Whether it was by destiny or chance, by some mystic influence or by nature or through the constellations, that the heavens stood in such a configuration that the time was fortunate (for as these scholars say, everything has its time) to give a letter in the service of Venus to any woman, to get her Jove--as to all this I cannot say. But great God in heaven, who knows no act is without cause, let Him judge all, for I will hold my peace.
But the truth is that this fresh May received that day such an impression of pity for this sick Damian that she could not drive from her heart the thought of bringing him ease. "In truth," she thought, "I care not whom this thing may annoy, for here I assure him to love him best of any creature, even if he has no more than his shirt."
Lo, pity runs swiftly into a gentle heart! Here you may see how excellent a generosity there is in women, when they take counsel well. There may be some tyrant, indeed there be many, with hearts as hard as stone, who would have let him die in the place rather than have granted him their grace; and would rejoice in their cruel pride, and care not though they committed homicide.
This gentle May, full of pity, made a letter with her own hand, and in it she granted him her full grace; there was nothing lacking except a day and place where she might meet him, for it should be just as he would have it. And one day, when she saw her time, May went to visit this Damian, and craftily thrust this letter down under his pillow; let him read it if he wished. She took him by the hand and wrung it hard, but so secretly that there was not a creature that knew of it, and bid him to be entirely well soon, and went forth to January, when he sent after her.
the next morning; all Damian's sickness and sorrow were gone. He combed his hair, he preened and adorned himself, he did all that delights and pleases his lady; and toward January he performed as dutifully as ever did any bow-hunting dog.
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